The Definition of Heroism
by Fence Walker
Summary: What's with all this being a hero business?" France wasn't sure why he asked America that question, but the answer was certainly not what he was expecting.


_Originally written for the Kink Meme. Please remind me to never try and write something "deep" and "meaningful" again._

"What's with all this being a hero business?"

France regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. He fully expected the addressed man to stand up as he usually did when questioned as such, slam his chest with a clenched fist, and loudly proclaim how he was the most awesome, and that's why he was the hero, didn't you know that? Many other nations had received the dramatic speech over the years (England had heard it so many times he could probably recite it, if supplied with the right type and amount of alcohol).

The Frenchman wasn't even sure why he let the question slip from his lips in the first place. Maybe it was the sight of the younger blond nation seated at his smooth mahogany desk, hunched over a stack of paperwork and diligently scratching away. He was just about the wave off his question and walk away when the sounds of pen on paper paused, and the other nation glanced up at France.

His blue eyes held none of their optimistic sparkle, and the childish smile that was usually spread across his face had been replaced with a small frown. His slender brows were furrowed slightly underneath his uneven fringe of hair. The younger nation looked…contemplative? But that was impossible; everyone knew the superpower couldn't act serious if his life depended on i-

"I don't know."

Despite France's startled expression, the American continued.

"Or, I do, it's just…" America trailed off, tapping the tip of his pen on the desk.

"The world isn't a nice place, Francis. People die every day from violence. Pointless, most of it." The tapping ceased; there was a small _chik_ as the pen was set down carefully.

"Ever read a comic book? The hero is the one who swoops in at the last minute to save the people." France noticed how unfocused America's eyes had become, lost somewhere in the back of his mind.

"A hero isn't just in comics, though. Heroes save people from themselves every day. I like that. And I know, _I know_, I'm the cause of most of the world's problems. Between Iraq and the economy and everything, I've generally managed to fuck things up pretty bad." America's quiet voice was rising slightly, fluxing in the way it did whenever he felt particularly emotional about a subject that was being discussed.

"If I could help everyone, I would. Nothing would make me happier then something resembling peace." A small, self-degrading smile twisted his lips briefly, before fading away.

"It can't ever be like that, though. Life isn't like how it is in comic books. It's much more grisly, it's…real. People fight each other over everything and anything." America sighed heavily, sounding like a world-weary old man.

"When there is a lapse in the fighting, I step in. I brush them off and help them back to their feet. That's what a hero does. A hero comes at the first cry of help, be it vocal or silent."

The silence in the room after America finished was deafening. France was frozen where he was standing, processing the younger nation's words rapidly. Things clicked into place in his mind, and suddenly, he was struck with an epiphany.

America, France realized, was not nearly as oblivious as they had thought him to be.

It was not surprising that the nation detested conflict, now that he stopped to consider it. The country had been born into war, first as a colony under England's care, then as the United States of America after rising from the ashes of the Revolution. Less than a hundred years later, the new country would already be shooting at each other in a Civil War.

France was snapped violently out of his revelations by a soft chuckle. He locked eyes with America, who had made the sound.

"Sorry about that, Francis," he laughed, scratching at the back of his neck in an embarrassed sort of way. "Not sure what came over me."

"N-non, Alfred, I did ask you." France forced a smile for the younger nation, who he was relieved to see beam back at him.

"Now, I've really got to finish these papers, so if you don't mind…"

As America bent back over his paperwork, and France slipped out of the doorway, he couldn't help but wonder how many nations would believe him if he said that America really did have a serious side.

_True heroism is remarkably sober, very undramatic. It is not the urge to surpass all others at whatever cost, but the urge to serve others at whatever cost._

- Arthur Ashe


End file.
